


Last Will & Testament

by Danko_Kaji



Category: Final Fantasy X, Final Fantasy X & X-2, Final Fantasy X -Will-, Final Fantasy X-2
Genre: F/M, Fix-It, Gen, Metafiction, Post-Canon Fix-It, Project FFX-3, Spoilers for FFX-2.5: The Price of Eternity
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-07
Updated: 2018-08-28
Packaged: 2018-10-15 22:18:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10558608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Danko_Kaji/pseuds/Danko_Kaji
Summary: One year after the events of Vegnagun, Spira has become embroiled in a phenomenon called "the Beckoning."The deceased are returning to their loved ones, lured by the grief and suffering their memory begets, evolving into a conflict that threatens to uproot the very foundation of the Eternal Calm. United by an ancient terror once more, Yuna joins Baralai alongside friends new and old in his pursuit of the truth.(Rating subject to change.)





	1. Prologue

Kurgum and Chuami stand at attention in Baralai’s office, looking to the man they call their Chancellor as he moves from behind his desk, carrying an orange sphere that he retrieved from his locked drawer. Long gone are the days where a young, mischievous priest would host chocolate sphere hunts on Holy Week or recite the daily prayer text every morning at their primary school. Now, they are Sender and officer respectively, addressing their superior.

“I want you two to take a look at this sphere, and tell me what you see.”

He holds the sphere out before them and slips his thumb into the subtle depression, clicking the visiofeed to life. They lean closer, spying the familiar stretch of dusk-lit soil that comprises the Moonflow bank along with the myriad of moon lilies native to its shallow waters. The flickering screen pans to a shoopuf wading within a shoal entrenched in pyreflies, tangling noses with that of another shoopuf. Chuami recognizes the courier shoopuf by the slash of its scar on its left hind leg, however―

“Cute. The shoopuf got himself a girlfriend.” She smirks, pulling back when Baralai withdraws his hands.

“...There was something about that shoopuf, though. Is it a Beckoning?” Kurgum looks to his superior, reluctant to voice his skepticism.

Baralai smiles, pleased with his astute observation. “Right you are, Kurgum.”

Chuami cuts her gaze to her friend, surprised filtering through her mirth. “Really? How can you tell?”

“The sphere was kind of staticky, but… See, if you compare it to the live shoopuf next to it, it’s translucent, almost like an Unsent.”

She crosses her arms, shifting her weight on one foot now, resisting the urge to tap her toes. “Okay. So maybe somebody beckoned it. We don't know that for sure.”

“That shoopuf is supposed to be the last of its kind," Baralai says, folding his arms. "One day, another one appeared, and it raised quite a commotion among the locals, prompting an immediate investigation.”

“Last one?” Kurgum queries. “But weren’t there reported sightings of other shoopuf in Bikanel Desert and Mt. Gagazet?”

“The last one indigenous to the Moonflow.”

Chuami averts her eyes, chagrined by the sight of his typical knowing smile. He could have easily told them all this in a single breath, instead of goading them to challenge his brilliant pool of amassed information. True to human nature, even Baralai with his noble countenance cannot resist the occasional power trip, if only in the realm of knowledge. “Enlighten us, Chancellor, because honestly, I don't see what the big deal is. Either the shoopuf beckoned it, or somebody else did. It's just as likely the shoopuf found himself a lady friend. You know how the Hypello love to cart them around in full display. It's not like the shoopufs are endangered. They've been a common sight in the Djose Continent for the past several years.”

“You are right, and normally that would be the case, if it were not for the fact shoopufs are a monogamous species. When they mate, they mate for life." He eventually loses the affable smile, adopting a solemn expression appropriate for delivering a grave report. "I sent an officer to investigate these rumors, and he proceeded to question the elderly who have lived there for years. Apparently, that particular beckoned shoopuf is the very same one attacked and killed by Sin thirty years prior.”

Chuami sighs, resigning herself to the argument. “Okay. So? What would you like us to do about it?”

“The situation has worsened in the Moonflow. On top of that beckoned shoopuf, the area is overflowing with pyreflies again. Unfortunately, our previous efforts to stabilize it were not enough. I hoped it would have stayed calmer for a little while longer, at least until we found a better, if not more permanent solution, but with the current state of Spira at it is, thrown into absolute disarray..." Baralai pauses to sigh, frustrated at the slow progression of things and the lack of visible, significant improvement; he recomposes his thoughts, strengthening his stance. "If it’s not too much trouble, I want you to head to Besaid and notify Lady Yuna of these events. There are negative implications being cast in the Yevoners' direction, and I wish to discuss this with her at full length in order to dispel such allegations. 

"But first, I need her to come meet with the Council.” He pauses to hand Kurgum the sphere, and her companion stows it away in his knapsack. “Can you do that for me?” 

“Of course.” Kurgum places a hand over his chest in earnest, foregoing the typical Yevon prayer. 

It took him forever to drop the habit. Chuami thought this suited him better. 

Baralai smiles, appeased by his answer. “If you have the time, then please. Make sure that she views the contents of this sphere.” And then he looks to Chuami, crossing his arms in a stern, yet almost blithe manner. “Be sure to look after him. He’s your charge, and you are his assistant. You must always follow his lead, _not_ the other way around.” 

She gives him a stern glare in jest, which he reciprocates. 

“You can't fool me. I know how you are.” 

“Okay, okay, I’ll be sure to keep that in mind.” She rolls her eyes, mimicking his posture if not to spite him. 

“Okay, then." He lightens up now, dropping his arms to his sides. "Have safe travels. You will be traveling by airship, so if you are susceptible to motion sickness, I suggest stocking up on medicine before heading to the docking station. Here’s a slip to give to the pharmacy located within the temple compound. They will provide for all your needs.” This one, he hands to Chuami, and she accepts it with a sly smile. 

“Huh. Reimbursed by the Council. I can get used to this.” 

“I would advise that you don’t. That’s only for emergency use.” 

She laughs, sliding the slip into the breast pocket of her black tweed vest. “I was just kidding. Sort of.” 

Kurgum makes a face at her, embarrassed by her wisecrack remarks. 

Chuami knows what he must be thinking: regardless of their personal history with the Chancellor, how can she still possess the nerve to ignore protocol right in front of their own boss, the leading authority figure of Spira, with a clear conscience? She never makes his job easy, but Kurgum never complains. Besides, Baralai does not seem to mind, accustomed to worse offenders such as the Machine Faction leader, Gippal, an Al Bhed youth infamous for his equal love of skirt-chasing and rule-breaking, and the ex-Mevyn, Nooj ― now Military Advisor of the Spiran Council and General of the Bevelle army ― a half-man and half-machine rumored to be suicidal. 

Apparently, the Chancellor likes to surround himself with colorful people. 

“Do you have any questions before you depart?” 

Baralai's voice anchors her back to the situation at hand, and Chuami stands straighter on her heels, all mirth gone from her stance. “Nope. I think we’re good to go. If you have no further instructions for us, then we can leave right away.” 

“Good.” Baralai smiles, regarding them with warmth. “Farewell, then. I hope to see you again soon.” 

They each give him a heartfelt salute, before departing into the new day.


	2. Superstar

After making a quick stop to the pharmacy, they head out into the bustling thoroughfares of Bevelle’s western districts, intending to pack a few days worth of clothes and other essentials for the trip. Kurgum had suggested shopping for apparel more suitable for the tropical weather of the southern islands and Chuami agreed, knowing frock dresses and winter boots won’t cut it. So they visit Stadium Road to check out this year’s selection of out-of-season summer clothes, eager to thrift the racks for some nice steals. 

Sitting outside in front of a juice shop while Kurgum waits to pay inside the store across from her, Chuami helps herself to a blueberry pomegranate smoothie, observing the hustle and bustle of contract workers hauling around heavy scaffolding and carts of churning cement throughout the street, sounds of construction prevalent in the air. This part of the shopping district used to be called Mika’s Road after the late Grand Maester, known for its antique shops and boutiques, which line the blocks alongside high-end restaurants and five star hotels. Art galleries and opera houses were the subjects of Grand Maester Yo Mika's past time; he always issued scholarships to the brightest acolytes, and funded the dojos and shrines to maintain their regal wooden and alabaster condition. For a man who preached the importance of spiritual enlightenment, he sure loved to dabble in cultural amenities. 

Although this tourist hotspot had always been a magnet for money, soon it will experience an even greater influx of consumers after the blitzball stadium’s completion. Several book cafes and tailor business have closed down in the recent years as a result, succumbing to their inevitable fate as dying trends, thus erasing competition for the prosperous few; making way for hip new apparel stores and oriental restaurants to revitalize the plaza. Since the Church fell out of power and people began to move on from its strict stipulations, people live however way they want now. 

Chuami can’t complain when she sees the younger crowd start to trickle in, overshadowing the voices of the older generation, along with the occasional bright blonde Al Bhed and giant blue Ronso traipsing the streets, even spying some tall slender Guado skulking about with their pale, vein-riddled faces shoved in a scroll or text. Those people are never in a hurry to be anywhere, always taking their time. Not unlike a certain someone she knew. _'Kurgum's taking_ forever. _Ugh... What's the hold up?'_

Chuami flicks her sundial wristwatch open with an audible 'tch,' annoyed to confirm what she already knew. Spying him through the glass wall of the illuminated store, the woman behind the cash register appears to be trying to shove some fancy credit sphere down his throat, no doubt an exclusive _Limitless G_ store equivalent. Does she really have to go and step in to bail him out _again?_ She opts to wait for another five minutes, hoping this will teach him a lesson. 

Peering up at the stadium that still bears its skeleton, she wonders if the tournament will really take place here. How will the Council take responsibility if it doesn’t? She gulps down the dregs of her drink with an internal sigh, satiated. The Chancellor better have a contingency plan in case the public starts pouring onto his doorstep, chanting their complaint like an angry mob. It does not really matter to her either way, since it holds no bearing on her personal life. 

Still, thinking back on how Baralai chided her to mind her place as Kurgum’s assistant, knowing full well how she tends to boss him around, Chuami scowls. Does he honestly expect her to wait on Kurgum hand and foot like a chocobo-brain? That boy can’t do anything on his own, let alone _think_ for himself. Kurgum's always hated confrontations, scared to death by the mere thought of them, preferring more peaceful solutions to resolving conflict. Someone had to take charge, and it couldn’t be the sweet little boy who always cowered behind her whenever the schoolyard bullies picked on him. 

They have known each other their whole lives. It comes with the status of being childhood friends. 

If all had been right in the world, Kurgum would have been a Summoner, but with things as they are now― on the cusp of a golden age, an era without Sin, or as the historians sing, "after the Eternal Calm"; officially ratified on the new celestial calendar as of 003 AEC― Kurgum ended up enlisting as a Council-authorized “Sender,” an officer responsible for ushering in souls to the Farplane, a right once conducted by Summoners. Baralai had personally assigned her to Kurgum as his assistant, but anyone could tell just by looking at them who really called the shots. 

Because they are always seen together, their teachers and school mates, even the gossipy, tittering clerics, often mistook them for sweethearts. Kids constantly teased them, mocking their platonic friendship with stupid pranks and warped nursery rhymes. But they couldn’t be farthest from the truth. As she spots Kurgum exit the store with a heftier knapsack than when he first entered, who catches himself upon tripping over an empty potion bottle, Chuami knows without a doubt that their relationship will never amount to anything more than friendship. Uncertain though the future may be, she knows this for certain. 

If anyone heard her say that, they would laugh at her and call it an ironic lead-in. 

Again. Not a lead-in. 

Chuami stands to stretch her limbs, proceeding to toss her cup into the trash while Kurgum bounds to her side. Aside from Council-related responsibilities and the dubious nature of boy-girl relationships, the real issue that demanded her attention happens to be the growing crowd up ahead. Chuami huffs, crossing her arms. Oh, great. Now they are blocking their quickest route back to the temple (even though Kurgum disagrees, preferring the boring, beaten, safe path). Given the extremely high mortality rate during Sin's thousand-year oppression, these old, narrow roads were never constructed with a large, thriving populace in mind. 

_'What're they all doing...?'_ And then she sees him, the new celebrity resident of Bevelle. Tidus.

She recognizes the handsome young athlete by the spiky mess of his sun-bleached hair and his black and yellow blitz attire. His cardinal red headband flares in the breeze until he stops in the middle of his daily jog to greet everyone who stands in thrall. Even from here, his brilliant smile lures her in, and Chuami starts to wander off in that direction, forcing Kurgum to catch up.

“Hey, Chuami, not that way! We gotta hurry.” 

She rolls her eyes at him. “Waiting on you, so we might as well just be late. Anyway, look. Isn’t that Tidus?” 

“Huh?” He slows down to a stop beside her, looking where she points. “Wow, it _is_ him!” 

Chuami smirks. “Let’s go take a closer look.” 

“Um, okay…” 

“What, are you nervous?” 

Kurgum laughs, caught guilty, opting to follow as she leads the way. 

Chuami can understand why he would feel nervous, though. Not because of Tidus’s status as a blitzball celebrity, but for his reputation as one of the Legendary Guardians. Alongside High Summoner Yuna, he had literally saved Spira from annihilation. Even she cannot deny feeling nervous, her reason being that Tidus knew her father. Chuami teeters on the edge of her curiosity, hovering behind the back of the crowd as the collective voices of his overzealous entourage eclipses the sound of her pounding heartbeat. 

“We always root for you!” 

“Go get ‘em!” 

“It’s so awesome to finally meet you!” 

“Hey~! Thanks.” Tidus broadens his smile, waving to everyone. “Cheer for me, okay?” 

A man about ten years older scavenges the courage to step closer, holding out a blitzball for him to sign. “Um, can I have your autograph?” 

“Yeaaah~!” Tidus bellows his excitement, scooping up the proffered item with a deft sweep of his hand. Twirling it on his fingertip, he props it up on the palm of his hand, withdrawing a black marker from his black dungarees to scrawl his signature in swift cursive; a skill he must have toiled to perfect. Once the blitz star hands it back, the guy looks about ready to spazz out from pure bliss.

“Thank you! Ooh, that’s so great!” 

Tidus laughs, soaking up the attention. “Thank you, thank you!” 

Now more people have started congesting around him, tossing caution out into the wind as they scramble for items on their person, scraps of paper or a souvenir, even holding out parts of their body for a chance to receive his signature. Chuami cringes from the embarrassing display, whereas Kurgum blushes when certain women act bold enough to flash him a bit of their cleavage. 

“Hey, shake my hand, man!” 

“You’re my hero!” 

“I’ve been your fan forever~!” 

Tired of listening to everyone sing their eternal praises, Chuami huffs and gathers the nerve to jostle through the crowd, giving them no quarter to escape the stomp of her heels. They throw her the stink eye as she passes, and she ignores their eloquent slew of complaints in favor of closing the distance, jabbing her sharp toes against the back of their ankles to pave a path, however narrow it yielded to her. Once she emerges breathless from the stifling hot pit of people, she shouts out to him. “Tidus! We’re rooting for you!” 

“Yup, yup…” 

He reaches out to shake her hand, sparing but a small, cursory glance in her direction, and just like that, his cheery mask slips. Chuami quirks an eyebrow, none too impressed by his lack of enthusiasm, but also concerned for the cause of it. His monosyllabic words rang hollow, and his grip felt weak and lifeless. Not what she expected in her first close-up impression of him. 

“Okay, well… I gotta get going.” Tidus breaks away, and before everyone can rise together in vocal protest, he musters the energy to grin and wave again, appeasing their vexation and disappointment with a flash of his dimples. “I’ll see you all at the stadium!” And then he departs with a buoyant beat to his step, resuming his run, sucking the life out of the whole vicinity like a vacuum. Now the crowd disperses, leaving Kurgum and Chuami to stand alone in the middle of the road. 

“Now that is what you call a star…” Kurgum mumbles in awe, eyes transfixed on his receding back. 

“That I cannot deny, but…” She trails off, pensive. 

“What is it?” 

“I think he’s injured. Or maybe he’s sick or something.” Chuami pauses, recalling how he acted normal on the surface. Nothing _looked_ wrong about him, as far as visible wounds go, but she cannot be too sure unless she had definitive proof, so she drops the matter for now and smiles. If it were really that serious, Tidus wouldn't be busy prepping for the upcoming tournament. “Hey, Kurgum, which team is favored to win it all?” 

“Probably the Besaid Aurochs.” 

The underdog favorite, huh? She hums, mulling it over. "And after them?" 

"The Al Bhed Psyches, maybe?" He shrugs, falling into step beside her as she takes the lead. 

"Okay. Let's find a betting parlor. We might make a fortune." Chuami grins, her eyes already perusing the district. It wouldn't surprise her if all manner of vendors and stalls have already begun taking up shop within the city due to the feverish anticipation of the blitzball season being hosted in the citadel's grand new stadium. No businessman in their right mind would pass up the chance to dip their pretty, little ring fingers into the goldmine of what Bevellian citizens hail as their number one hotspot for compulsive shopping. 

“Chuami, is that really… you know…” Kurgum’s face falls at her perfunctory remark, giving her another one of his insufferable looks. True to his proud and pristine image as an ex-acolyte who still believes in and adheres to the highest degree of abstinence, he never approved of activities such as gambling, calling it a 'sin of luxury facilitated by greed.' Given his steadfast devotion to lawful goodness, he can out-preach a Yevon textbook. “C’mon, let’s go.” 

“Alright, alright…” She concedes, but only because the Chancellor expects them to do their job.


	3. The New World

Gazing out into the blackened sky through her porthole, Chuami sighs.

Their daredevil of a pilot decided to chart a course through the stormy skies of the Thunder Plains to reach the Moonflow, and wonders why they could not have just flown above the thunderstorm or around it even if the latter wound up extending their flight by two-three days. But the Al Bhed man informed them that airships cannot fly above a certain altitude, whatever that meant, and they lacked the fuel to make multiple stops.

As a child, she always wondered why the Thunder Plains were stuck in an eternal lightning storm, responsible for the highest death toll among travelers after Sin. Once she started sitting in on Baralai's geography lessons with his godfather and tutor, she at least learned how to tell fact from fiction better than her own peers. She recalls the weather book propped open to the many different cycles and clouds detailing the sky's phenomenon, with alien words and terminology that exceeded the amount of pictures. Scisero Guado had been kind enough to translate the text into simpler denotations, however.

Thunderstorms form due to unstable air and moisture, fueled by the action of warm air rising and cold air sinking; in other words, convection. The Thunder Plains in particular exist in an everlasting state of unrest, raging against the constant cold fronts that descend from Macalania's arctic borders, clashing with the Moonflow's warm updrafts.

Shiva's presence in the frozen forest and the hot equator were long thought to be the reason for The Thunder Plains' current condition. But now that the Fayth of Macalania Temple disappeared and the lake melted in response, the woods are dying. This dangerous, tempestuous weather should have started dissipating by now, if not calmed down enough for safer passage without the need for lightning rod towers. But The Thunder Plains have not changed.

Kurgum believed a Fayth must be dwelling in the land, possibly one in association to lightning similar to Ixion, and Chuami echoes that thought out loud. "Hey, Kurgum. Is there a Fayth out there, like you said…"

"Maybe." Kurgum shrugs from his spot among the bank of seats. "Baralai and I― er, I mean, the Chancellor, thinks so, and so does Lady Ilyria and Lord Scisero. It might be a wrathful Fayth who got sealed away. Why else have we not known about it? It was probably too powerful for humans to handle, or maybe we did something wrong to incur its wrath―."

"Okay, okay, I get it, Gandof." Chuami rolls her eyes, amused by his excited prattling. He can be such a mythology nerd sometimes, proving worse than Baralai's love of history. "There were Fayth before Yevon's time, right? What do you think they were like? Summoners didn't need to sacrifice their lives for anything major like the Final Summoning…"

"Well, in the Machina War, Zanarkand sent their Summoners to the frontlines."

"Oh, yeah… But before that. What do you think?"

"I don't know. That's a good question…"

Three years into the Eternal Calm, and yet their new official history has yet to be cemented in the textbooks. Upon the revelation of unburied, secret truths, everybody in the world were forced to revisit and deconstruct their knowledge of Spira's history. Scisero Guado, an avid scholar and professor of history, just came out with his latest book, _Spira: A World Unraveling_ , citing Guadosalam's library as his primary source of research.

Sudden turbulence rips Chuami out of her thoughts, and she arrests her leather seat in a tight grip, frightened by the implications. What a pain, but she resolves to endure the rough ride until their estimated arrival on Moonflow soil. She can't wait to step on solid ground again.

* * *

They opted out of surveying the inner Moonflow banks, eager to stretch their legs and soak in the early sunlight while perusing the stalls for breakfast, staying well within the territories bordering the Mushroom Rock Road to avoid the central roads affected most by the Beckoned. Food vendors promoting a proud line-up of foreign delights line the stretch of uncultivated land, and Chuami lingers by a yakisoba booth, tempted to order some fried noodles. Kurgum returns with a wicker basket full of fruit, and they head out with hot, fresh food in hand, picking a secluded spot by a nearby river. They remove their shoes and roll up their pant legs to dip their feet in the shallow, cool water, enjoying their meal in peaceful silence, admiring the light of dawn dancing across the calm waters in soft refraction.

On their way back to their airship, they grab some fried rice and beef kebabs for their pilot and venture within the bazaar, hoping to stumble upon a new shortcut amidst the discounted antiques and fabric shops. Chuami slows when they walk past a carpet display of Wisterian jewelry, overtaken by curiosity to wander over and kneel, surveying its exotic selection. The leather chokers and beaded bracelets catch her eye, but... none of them really speak out to her. Until her eyes land on the row of carved figurines and crystal accessories. She pays for the bracelet that depicts painted birds in flight on oaken beads, straightening to face Kurgum.

"Is that for the Chancellor?" He peers down at her purchase, curious.

"No dummy. It's for you." She smiles, pulling his hand in so she can slip it over his delicate, scrawny wrist. "Ha, I knew it. The colors suit you." Withdrawing her hands, Chuami watches as Kurgum admires it, pleased by his subdued happiness. "Besides, if I wanted to buy something for Baralai, it'd be a lot fancier."

Kurgum deadpans, followed by a flat, "Thanks."

Chuami sniffs, folding her arms. "So? Do you like it?"

He chuckles. "Do you even have to ask? I like anything you give me."

"Except for that one time I carved a wooden chocobo for you. I could tell from the look on your face it was hideous."

"No, it wasn't! It was… avant-garde."

"Yeah, right."

She rolls her eyes in response to his meek smile, her offense only skin deep. Pivoting on her heel, she leads the way, forcing Kurgum to catch up.

* * *

As Chuami watches their airborne descent through her porthole, she breathes a sigh of relief. She enjoys the novelty of air travel as much as the next person, but sitting for hours on end stuck inside a vehicle prone to turbulence can get exhausting. Kurgum agrees with her, and soon enough they exit onto a harbor which also functions as an airlift, glad to be on solid ground again.

"We reconvene again tomorrow morning, yes? Ten o'clock. After a necessary tune-up. Nothing major." The Al Bhed pilot informs them in his heavy accent, and Chuami nods, even though she does not understand what that means.

"Is there something wrong with the ship?" She couldn't tell honestly. There were so many weird noises, she cannot even begin to distinguish which ones were natural and dangerous.

"Nah. Just normal procedure."

"Okay. We'll come back here tomorrow."

They wave to him as they walk away, brushing past Al Bhed porters pushing around freight carts loaded to the brim with machine parts rattling inside their storage containers. Probably new shipment from the excavation site in Sanubia Desert. Chuami can tell by the amount of independent contractors hired by the Machine Faction disembarking from their aircraft shuttles, exhausted and airsick by the sway of their jelly legs. These bulky men and daring women look the worse for wear, bathed in the dirt and sweat of their labors, most of them sporting darker skin than when they first departed from the mainland.

Chuami raises her arms high above her head, stretching out her sore, stiff limbs while breathing in the crisp, open breeze. She likes the air here. It reminds her of home, of the open sea and the seagulls' cries. Already does the sea-salt breeze lure her homeward, bringing to mind the salt lakes she used to frolic in as a child and the pleasure piers she loves to visit during the annual summer festival. Of her few visits in Luca, there were even fewer she could call vacations. Hard to distinguish the pleasant memories from the conflicted emotions she felt every time.

Lady Yuna's speech following the fall of Sin three years ago.

Baralai's fateful return alongside the two other faction leaders after their mysterious disappearance two years after.

Chuami slows to a stop, facing the ocean now, peering out into the vast, crystal clear landscape in wistful reminiscence.

Her mother, victim to the gossip of superstitions, contented herself behind the crimson bulwark of Bevelle, never willing to venture out and experience the world. Only in her time with Baralai's esteemed parents did her mother scavenge the courage to peek out from her shell, placing her absolute trust in travel-worn pilgrims who braved the Summoner's path until they turned their back on the end of their line, loyal to self-preservation. She cannot imagine them being afraid of anything, and she cherishes their presence in her life, especially her childhood. For without them, she would have definitely been a lioness trapped in sheep's clothing, oppressed by the world she grew up in.

Banners beholding the alpha letter of Yevon no longer adorn the quayside stone walls of Luca, torn down in the days subsequent to the Church's dissolution. Chuami watched the statesmen make a proud, public display of it upon her arrival in Lucan waters, discarding the remainder of them in a large, growing pile later to be burned in a grand bonfire hosted at the city's central plaza. It unsettled her more than she thought it would, and the feeling festered in her stomach as anxiety on her way to the stadium. She attributed it to nerves, eager to lay eyes upon her generation's High Summoner for the first time. They rented three rooms as a party of seven, intending to stay for a whole week. The three children typically had one room to themselves, with Baralai and Kurgum sharing a bed while Chuami had one all to herself, and the parents took the other suites in pairs. Mori and Ilyria to a duvet, her mother and Scisero Guado to a double.

Baralai had been acting really distant then, quiet and subdued, slow to warm up to their teasing and horseplay. In the six months since they last said goodbye to him, a bright-eyed green soldier fresh out of the military academy, time and experience changed him, whittled down the hopeful boy into a hollow man. She wanted to ask him what those haunted eyes have witnessed in his exhibition outside of Bevelle, but a gut feeling told her to refrain. He never tells them anything, but she knows he harbors inner demons that want to be let out, raging inside his self-made prison.

She wants to be the pillar that supports him, the candle to his fire. She wants to be the blade upon his sword, the extension of his will. She wants to fight for the vision he believes in, the future he strides toward. As much as the sentiment embarrasses her, it also drives her on the path she forged for herself. She only joined the Spiran Council to follow him, eager to lend him her bow and arrow, to fight if need be, not to babysit Kurgum and his growing pains. _'What can I do for you? Tell me, and I will answer―'_

"The ocean is beautiful, huh?"

Kurgum's wistful voice startles her out of her reverie, and she blushes, sheepish.

"Huh? ...oh, yeah. But the view from Bevelle is better."

"Because the Chancellor is not here?"

"Quiet, you."

Checking into a three-star hotel, they rent a two bedroom suite covered by the Council's coffers, eager to exploit the rare opportunity to lavish in luxurious comfort. Chuami specifically picked out a room with a seaside view; peering out from the balcony now, she breathes in the fresh sea salt breeze billowing in from the ocean and grins.

While Kurgum lounges on the bed, nursing his airborne headache with an arm thrown across his face, blocking out all vestiges of light from his aching eyes, Chuami steals the opportunity to strip out of her sweltering thick frock coat and black leggings, sighing in pure relief. She slips on an asymmetrical, rose skirt, delighting in the breeze that soothes her legs, and unbuttons her vest down to her undershirt, padding over to the window seat barefoot so she can recline on the plush window seat. Gazing out across the boardwalk, she contents herself with people-watching.

She lifts her face at the slightest pick-up of a breeze, sensing the wind caress her cheeks, the cool light of the receding sun, and smiles.

A world without Sin, a world without fear. A world she only dreamed of, until three years ago.

If only her mother could enjoy it with her.

* * *

They hit the bar at some point in the evening, despite Kurgum's grating protest, because Chuami wants to celebrate her recent passage into adulthood. Kurgum may not want to partake in a drink, but she definitely wouldn't think twice, daydreaming of the taste of a chocolate margarita or mango tequila. Although many policies and stipulations have changed since the establishment of the Eternal Calm, such as later curfew times, increased Al Bhed residencies due to open immigration, and homosexual/interracial marriages, the legal drinking age still remained at sixteen years of age. There were rumors that the Council wished to raise the bar, worse pass a bill for its prohibition, for fear of another trending craze like uncontrolled drug trafficking.

They find one right around the corner of a quaint cafe, discovering the entire place packed to the brim. A long line of inebriated adults and die-hard blitz fans congregate in front of the telesphere console hung up on the high wall, while large groups of varying counts occupy all available seatings. Chuami manages to snag a small corner booth the moment a couple stands to leave, pleased with herself. Coins clink and clatter in the background, bouncing to the flurry of quick-minded players engaged in Sphere Break. Men and women alike toast to frothing glass mugs of beer over at the bar, watching replays on the past month's blitz matches, placing bets and building tabs for the upcoming new season.

Chuami chews at the end of her straw, suckling the dregs of her strawberry-banana martini and welcoming the bittersweet taste that saturates her tastebuds, basking in the heady, energized atmosphere. Kurgum sits quietly across from her, having long since given up on casual conversation when his voice proved too soft to rise above the cacophony, and contents himself with munching on his ahi salad. She orders another round to drown that ever annoying prickle of awareness, desperate to let loose and not dwell about anything.

She does not remember much afterwards, only the distinct feeling that Kurgum dragged her back to their hotel room.

* * *

Kurgum spends the remainder of their eight hour flight shuffling back and forth across the bridge, stopping at times to peer out one of the portholes to stave his airsickness and then sitting back down at the bank of seats, wringing his hands on his lap. Chuami finds his constant restless movements _nauseating_ to watch, worsening the headache born from her hangover, so she directs her gaze outside her porthole. Not that she can fault him. Anyone would be restless on an airship with nothing to do.

Tired of the same, old, beautiful scenery, she props open her logbook and thumbs through the written pages. She had been recording their progress and the particular details of their journey every day, amazed by the numerous sights and smells that Spira has to offer, as well as the rapid passage of time; what would normally take a whole month to travel could be reduced to three days on airship. Boredom threatens to circumvent the wonder and beauty of aero travel pretty quick, and she sighs. Imagining the look on his face when he finds out she actually worked on her report somewhat abets the headache, and she smiles.

Casting her gaze out through the porthole again, she admires the incredible view of the golden horizon bleeding into purple azure, signifying the arrival of evening. Time passes much quicker in flight, as the pilot loves to point out; racing against time due to the rotation of the planet, scientific fact Scisero Guado ensured she understood to the point of torturous repetition. Squinting against the dull glow of the sun blinding her periphery, she spots a conspicuous dot of green land in the distance, which Kurgum responds to first.

"Is that Besaid Island?"

"No, dummy. That's Kilika."

She crosses her arms, confident in her claim. They couldn't have reached it this fast. Besides, with Kilika having undergone a significant expansion of their piers and harbors since their complete restoration in the past three years, it could rival Besaid in verdantry.

But then the Al Bhed pilot interjects, pulling the rug out out beneath her feet. "We are approaching Besaid. Prepare for landing!"

Kurgum laughs, his mirth devolving into nervous laughter when Chuami throws him a withering glare.

"Did you just _laugh_?"

"Of course n― Chuami, I can't brea― Stop!"

He starts choking, trapped in her vicious headlock and struggling to break free.

"Prepare for landing, oui pnyda!"

Even though she didn't understand a word he said, Chuami knows for a fact he called them brats. It does not take a university professor in Linguistics to know that.

Ignoring his barb, she relinquishes Kurgum with a harsh shove, vengeance satiated for the time being.

* * *

"We are not here to sightsee."

Chuami proclaims the moment they step onto the sea-worn wood of the docking bridge, punctuating her next grandiose remark with a cheeky smile. "Remember, our objective is to meet the one and only High Summoner Yuna." Kurgum simply sighs in response, allowing her full reign as she pivots on her heel, teetering to the fall of her boots sinking in sand. They leave behind the beach to walk the waterfall path, enjoying the cool, soft mist rinsing off the grogginess and sweat from their skin.

In the last year since Yuna had been reported to quit sphere-hunting, she returned to Besaid and assumed her position as the High Priestess of the Yevoners.

Chuami suppresses her sigh, internalizing her disappointment. Now, Yevoners. Everyone knows the story with them. Stuffy, anachronistic fossils who act as guard dogs of the old ways and the 'so-called' morality. They were also responsible for the recent commotion that upset Spira, or at least, the hard-core members were, but since then the incident had been quelled. Still, it nauseates Chuami to think that organizations such as them still exist in the world.

New Yevon had been bad enough, but she dislikes the Yevoners even more. She would be lying, though, if she confessed she harbored zero interest in meeting the heroine who defeated Sin and freed Spira from a thousand-year-old curse.

She slows her pace now, thoughtful, kicking aside a stray pebble that threatened to capsize her.

Lady Yuna must have also known her father well.

Reaching the promontory leading to Besaid's rustic hamlet, they descend the slope until they reach the stone pillars that border its entrance, stepping through the threshold. They survey the paved center plaza and dome-shaped homesteads populating the sparse forest of trees. There couldn't have been more than a hundred or two people living here. Like the boondocks, a perfect place to settle down and raise a family.

Chuami could never see herself living here, so far removed from the mainland and its numerous sources of entertainment. Time appears to be frozen here, preserving life at its most peaceful and monotonous.

Speaking with a few of the locals, they locate the mayor's home soon enough, a walk less than five minutes from the main gate. "Hello? Is anyone home?" Chuami peaks her head through the opening before Kurgum can stop her, lifting up one end of embroidered fabric that serves as a door― only to instantly regret it. She almost ducks out from sheer embarrassment, mortified that she caught the mother with one breast exposed, nursing her one-year-old on her teat, and succumbs to the impulse, using the tarp as coverage for her shame.

"You may enter." A deep, sultry voice answers, granting them permission despite their rude entry.

They stand before the doorway now, blocking entry for anyone who wishes to step in and interrupt their impromptu audience. The man she assumes must be her husband and the father of her child lounges in front of their low table, gazing up at the pair while eating dinner. Kurgum squirms from their casual scrutiny in the midst of this raw, unsettling domesticity while working up the courage. Chuami does a visual survey of the humble abode, spying an open air oven in the process of cooking fish. Smoke rises from the crackling chips, lending its heady scent to the unique spices that fill the various pots adorning the cloth walls. Barely any air circulation in here, unless you pin up the curtains on the twig support beams that shape their roof.

"Good afternoon, Mayor Lulu. I am Kurgum, a Sender of the Spiran Council. This is my assistant, Chuami."

"So, what business does the Council have here?"

Chuami avoids eye contact with the woman, annoyed that she didn't exercise the decency to cover herself after their introductions.

"My apologies, Mayor Lulu, but my instructions are to speak to Lady Yuna in person."

Chuami glances at him, impressed by his tone of authority. Obviously she can tell Kurgum strives to channel Baralai in his voice, stressing politeness around the firm command. He always likes to emulate him in moments of anxiety and self-doubt, and managed to dispel the worst of his stutter due to his lifelong big brother worship of him. This does not intimidate the newlywed couple in the least, and the muscle-bound man voices his surly complaint.

"Oh, yeah? Well, then, I guess we should let you see her― _Not_." The man stands at full attention to fold his burly arms across his san-tanned pectorals, projecting his massive presence as well as his loud, obnoxious voice. "Lots of people come here saying the same thing, yeah?" 

"We're here to spare Yuna any unnecessary headaches. Now state your business." Mayor Lulu reinforces her husband's statement, stubborn and self-imposing while staving the worst of her baby's fussing. Readjusting her fur-lined collar over her breast now that her baby satiated himself, she stands to walk over to the crib, rocking him to sleep, before placing him down on top of the quilt. Once satisfied her child will not wake, she straightens to regard the pair with narrowed eyes.

"But…" Kurgum falters in his stance, frightened by the angry giant who towers over him as well as his austere wife.

This garners Wakka's sympathy, and he drops his arms, rubbing the back of his cockatrice-coiffed head in deliberation; all the while ignoring Lulu's pointed glare. "Well, I guess you got a job to do, too. Let's do this, I'll take you to Yuna, but I sit in on the meeting, too. We'll all share the pain, eh?"

Chuami suppresses her snort, disguising the sound by crossing her arms.

 _'What 'pain' is there for you?'_ But she internalizes her complaint, because the big-breasted mayor and the oafish caretaker were also legendary Guardians.

They knew her father, too, so it would not be wise to start trouble right away.

"C'mon. This way."

Wakka escorts them to the temple, leading them inside and straight up the long flight of steps that lead to the uppermost door. And yet Chuami and Kurgum falter before the base, taking in the stone-sculpted stairway carpeted in muted red velvet, the brightest color in this quiet, modest building. The towering stone statues of High Summoners past seem to mock them from their regal perch atop the bleachers, glaring down at them in cold judgement. Such an overbearing presence... Why does she get the feeling one of them will spring to life and smite them for their audacity to enter a divine threshold?

Chuami senses Kurgum reach for her hand and she meets him halfway, allowing him comfort in the meeting of their clammy, wet palms.

This could have been them. In another life, they could have braved the seas and weathered the storms beneath the shadow of Sin, time and time again, for a paltry moment of harsh supplication.

"Well?" Wakka peers over them from atop the steps, impatience bleeding through his toes. "What're you waiting for? This place isn't haunted, trust me. We cleared out the nest of fiends months ago."

Chuami scoffs, the first to move and break the spell. "We're not afraid of any fiends."

Inside, damp stone walls surround them, tinged in green moss and faded blue, and Chuami scrunches her nose, put off by the pungent, moist smell. They reach a dead end where a glowing green glyph points to all four cardinal directions on the wall in front of them; a compass robbed of its purpose, for Wakka turns right to descend a short flight of steps. It yields into an alcove and an empty stone console. Kurgum's eye linger on it, and Chuami urges him along.

They turn again to descend once more through a set of open double doors, and Kurgum takes to reading the writing on the wall now, glowing white Yevon script detailing the path of the pilgrimage. Besaid, Kilika, Djose, Macalania, Bevelle, Zanarkand…

Kurgum would have had to travel all this way from Bevelle on foot, no airship, only seafare to cross the long stretches of sea between the islands, not knowing if he would die in a random, ill-fated encounter with Sin or some other powerful fiend, before trekking all the way back to Bevelle and crossing the Calm Lands. Going by the word of hearsay, many of the Fayth would not recognize a fledgling Summoner for their resolve unless they sensed the divine blessing of Valefor within their souls. Perhaps even Ifrit, the hellhound of Kilika, if their passion proved them worthy.

Chuami always hated the idea of Kurgum and Summoner training. Many of their past disputes originated from their stubborn refusal to understand the other's side. Fortunately, the Eternal Calm put a stop to all that heartache.

"This place used to be called the Cloister of Trials." Wakka breaks the tense silence, his loud voice accompanying the echo of their footsteps. "It's just a regular passageway now that there's no Fayth. Summoners used the room farthest down to meet with the Fayth. That's where Yuna is right now."

"What's Lady Yuna doing there? I mean, if there's no Fayth…" Chuami remembers her wits, keeping herself mild-mannered.

"Even with no Fayth, you can still pray. That's what Yuna does now."

"What does she pray for?" Kurgum says, curious.

"Peace on Spira."

"Yeah, right…"

Chuami mutters under her breath, prompting Wakka to throw a glare her way. "Say again?"

"Oh, nothing… Uh, by the way, Sir Wakka… I'm a little confused about Yevoners. Their objective is not restoring power to the Yevon temples?"

"What, we starting from there…" He grumbles, conceding to her question, oblivious to the trap she set in her feigned innocence. "Well, I guess it's pretty important, so I'll explain. Yevoners aren't trying to control the world through the teachings like the olds temples did. All they're trying to do is live their own lives by the teachings. That's all. It's just one way of living."

One way of living? Who would want to live like that, chained to outdated principles? Chuami frowns, annoyed. "I don't quite understand the difference."

"The temples maintained several big lies. Sin being the manifestation of human misdeeds, the taboo against the use of machines, that kinda stuff. But everything else they said was pretty much on the money. Gratitude for the bounty of nature, respecting your neighbors…"

"But all of that just sounds like common sense. I don't think you need to become a Yevoner and pray..."

"That's why I said it's one way to live, not the only way." Wakka pauses, halting in his tracks to scrutinize her. "How old are you?"

Chuami quirks an eyebrow, confused by the relevancy of that question. "Seventeen."

"So you'll learn soon." He crosses his arms, nodding his head in sagely self-importance. "The older you get, the harder it becomes to change how you live. Even in this new age, there are people that are lost. Yevoners are a gathering of people like that."

"So it's different from say, New Yevon?" Kurgum chimes in, eager to divert her annoyance with a possible subject matter of mutual disdain.

"Those guys were just using Yevon's name to gain the people's trust. Their views were actually progressive."

"So the Yevoners are backwards thinking?"

Wakka fumbles in his response. "That's not what I meant… Anyway, New Yevon is gone, and now it's a council. What's the point of discussing it now?"

"So to sum up, Yevoners are basically a gathering of weak people?" She smiles, hitting the final nail on the head, transfixed on the expression of grief that suddenly shadows his stern features.

"Chuami!" Kurgum scolds her, but she ignores him.

"Why you gotta go and say it out loud? Everyone knows. They know."

"If they know, they shouldn't just crawl into a hole. They should go out and try to live. They think they maintain peace through prayer? Talk about delusional…"

"Chuami, was it? Be kinder. Be bigger. Your kind of thinking will only hurt those people."

As they approach the platform, they start to hear a chorus of voices singing the Hymn of the Fayth.

Chuami didn't like how he said "those people," acting as though he had no stake. His own Summoner and surrogate sister leads those people; by association, that means she chooses to live just like them, weary old folks afraid of the new world. Honestly, the woman who defied tradition and overthrew the Church, backpedaling on her own accomplishments.

It does not make any sense.

"Okay, wait here. I'll bring Yuna. Just keep it to business. If you hassle her like you did with me, I'll throw you out."

Wakka walks away, climbing the steps where a white-robed woman kneels at the top.

'Hassle,' he says. Perhaps she had been hassling him. Coming to terms with the visible, undeniable proof that the High Summoner stands as the spokesperson for these Yevoners, a stark contrast to Chancellor Baralai who used to lead these same people back in his days as Praetor for New Yevon, before he chose to adapt to change, replacing the previous figures of authority with younger, fresh faces…

It irks her.

'Praying for peace'? Far too late for that.

Her mother had been killed by Yevoner hunters; impaled by a spear, she died with blood streaming from her chest. And just for being a sympathizer. The scene replays itself in her head, fueling her rage and resentment beneath the surface of her strained calm. _'If it wasn't for them…'_

"Chuami." Kurgum's anchors her back to the present with his soft, empathic voice. "I know how you feel, but please… We have a job to do."

"I know." She acquiesces, averting her eyes to stare at a tapestry depicting Valefor.

A mighty and omnipotent avian deity known for her mercy on fledgling Summoners. Chuami remembers viewing an oil painting of Valefor's slender, robust body, the violet scales of its flesh-colored wings and scarlet feathers in the temple library, how frightening and fearsome it looked when Lady Ilyria summoned her. Genteel and guileful, performing cartwheels in the sky for the thirteen-year-old boy fearless of heights.

Kurgum's simpering voice interrupts her reverie. "Just please… oh, it's Lady Yuna."

A young woman descends through the aisles of elderly folk bowed in humble prayer, with long, dark hair flowing to the beat of her clipped footsteps. She wears a pleated, black skirt that sashays around a pair of pale, slender legs and long draping sleeves that match the snow white of her wrap shirt, save for the red dye that grows darker towards the tips. Stopping before the young pair in soft-spoken regard, she clasps her hands in front of her and bows.

Whereas Baralai brightens the room with kind eyes and arms wide open in warm invitation, gracious smile ever present, Yuna dampens the air surrounding her with a hush and reverence her solemnity begets, her beautiful face a stoic mask. As she straightens to regard them with polite indifference, the dim torchlight of flickering embers illuminates her cerulean-green eyes. The shadow of her smile haunts her, as does the disheartening contrast.

"Hello, and welcome to Besaid, home of the Yevoners. I am the Priestess Yuna."

**Author's Note:**

> The first arc, which encompasses the entirety of the -Will- audio drama, will probably span 8-10 chapters. After that, I will approach the multiple, emerging conflicts such as the Yevoner hunters, the mastermind behind beckoning Sin, and Tidus/Yuna's sordid love story with finesse. Hopefully. I've got a lot in store for this fic, and I want to finish it before the actual game ever comes out in five or so years.


End file.
